The Confused (Wo)Man
I had a very brief, I don’t know what to call it, with
someone. It was over before it
started. It is like a million other moments
I have had with other men. Except…this one is different.
Something about me attracts them to me. The Confused Man. He was either born that way, became that way,
or is post trauma: dead wife or ex-wife at this stage of my life, but earlier,
it was much less defined. At twenty, and
then thirty, and then again at forty, most of the confused men who entered my
life hadn’t yet married.
I have a history with them.
I really thought after my last two plus year Confused Man that I had
finally rid myself…but no… apparently they find me, like birds migrating or
bees to honey.
The other part of My Confused Men is that they confuse my
extra sturdy door with a revolving door.
They think that even though they’ve stomped on my heart it is perfectly
okay to come back for round two or three.
Some don’t come back for more but stay in touch. My first ex-boyfriend, who became orthodox
because of me and is now chareidi, contacts me regularly. Thirty five years
later. He is a grandfather several times over.
He isn’t the only one but certainly the longest.
Back to the latest Confused Man: He and I didn’t understand
each other. He made assumptions about me
based on how I look, speak, and dress. I
too made those assumptions about him. It turns out we were both wrong. BUT, it only lasted a minute. He tried. I tried. I set a boundary, a hard limit, not to be
crossed. He didn’t like my terms. I
didn’t like what he was offering. I
saved myself, my self -respect and protected my heart from being broken. I also saved thousands on the shrink bill.
The good news all the thousands I have already spent have
gone to good use. The bad news, here I
am, still alone, lonely and looking for you…Are you there?! Will we ever meet?
